The paste solution holding the feathers to the fabric dissolved in water. Limbeck watched in growing alarm as, one by one and then in clumps, the tier feathers began sliding off. Limbeck’s first impulse was to loosen his hands, although what he would do when his hands were loose wasn’t exactly obvious. He gave a violent tug at his right wrist. This had the effect—and a startling effect it was—of causing the contraption to flip completely over in midair. Limbeck found himself hanging by his wrists from the rapidly defeathering wings, staring down at his feet. After the first moment of sickening panic subsided and Limbeck was fairly certain he wasn’t going to throw up, he noticed that his situation had improved. The fabric, now missing most of the feathers, billowed out above him, slowing his rate of descent, and though he was still getting tossed around considerably, the motion was more stable and less erratic.
The laws of aerodynamics were just beginning to emerge from Limbeck’s fertile mind when he saw, materializing out of the storm clouds below him, a darkish blob. Squinting, Limbeck ascertained at length that the blob was one of the islands of the Terrel Fen. It had seemed to him that when he was among the clouds, he was drifting down very slowly, and he was astonished to note that the isle appeared to be rising up to meet him at an alarming rate of speed. It was at this point that Limbeck discovered two laws simultaneously: the theory of relativity being one, the law of gravity being another.
Unfortunately, both laws were driven clean out of his head by the impact.
14
The morning Limbeck was gliding downward into the Terrel Fen, Hugh and the prince were flying dragonback into the nightside somewhere over the Uylandia Cluster. The flight was cold and cheerless. Trian had given the dragon its directions, so that Hugh had nothing to do but sit in the saddle and think. He could not even tell what track they were flying, for a magical cloud accompanied them.
The dragon would occasionally dip down below the cloud to get its bearings, and then Hugh tried to glean, from the softly glowing coralite landscape moving smoothly beneath them, some idea of where he was and where he had been. Hugh had no doubt but that he’d been double-crossed, and he would have given half the money in his purse to know the whereabouts of Stephen’s hideout in case he decided to complain about his treatment in person. It was useless, however, and he soon gave up.
“I’m hungry—” began Bane, his childish high voice splitting the still night air.
“Hold your tongue!” snapped Hugh.
He heard a swift intake of breath. Glancing around, he saw the boy’s eyes widen and shimmer with tears. The kid had probably never been yelled at in his entire life.
“Sound carries clearly in the night air, Your Highness,” said the Hand softly.
“If someone is following us, we don’t want to make it easy for him.”
“Is someone following us?” Bane was pale but undaunted, and Hugh gave the kid credit for courage.
“I think so, Your Highness. But don’t worry.”
The prince pressed his lips tightly together. Timidly he slid his arms around Hugh’s waist. “That doesn’t bother you, does it?” he whispered. Small arms tightened around Hugh, he felt a warm body nestle against his, and the child’s head rested lightly on his strong back. “I’m not afraid,” Bane added stoutly, “it’s just nicer when you’re close.” A strange sensation swept over the assassin. Hugh felt suddenly dark and empty and abhorrently evil. Gritting his teeth, he resisted the impulse to free himself of the kid’s touch by concentrating on their immediate danger. Someone was following them. Whoever it was, he was good at it, too. Twisting around in the saddle, Hugh searched the sky, hoping that their shadow—fearful of losing sight of them—might grow careless and show himself. Hugh saw nothing, however. He couldn’t even have told exactly how he knew they had company. It was a prickling at the back of his neck, instinct reacting to a sound, a smell, something glimpsed from the corner of the eye. He quietly accepted the warning, his one thought: Who was trailing them and why?
Trian. There was that possibility, of course, but Hugh discounted it. The wizard knew their destination better than they did. He might have been following them to make certain the Hand didn’t attempt to subvert the dragon and make off with it. That would have been foolish in the extreme. Hugh was no wizard, he knew better than to meddle with a spell, especially one laid on a dragon. Ensorceled, dragons were obedient and tractable. Break the enchantment, and they regained their own will and intelligence and became totally erratic and unpredictable. They might continue to serve you, but they might also decide to make you their evening repast.
If it wasn’t Trian, who was it?
Someone from the queen, no doubt. Hugh cursed the wizard and his king long and hard beneath his breath. The bungling fools had let slip their plans. Now, undoubtedly, Hugh had to contend with some baron or earl attempting to rescue the child. The Hand would have to rid himself of this nuisance, which meant laying a trap, cutting a throat, hiding a body. The kid would probably recognize the man, know him to be a friend. He would grow suspicious. Hugh would have to convince the prince that the friend had been an enemy; that his enemy was truly his friend. It looked to be a lot of bother, and all because Trian and his guilt-ridden king had been careless.
Well, thought Hugh grimly, it’ll cost them.
The dragon began spiraling down, without guidance from Hugh, and the Hand guessed that they had reached their destination. The magical cloud disappeared and Hugh glimpsed a patch of forest, dark black against the blue-glowing coralite, and then a large cleared area and the sharply defined and delineated shapes that were never found in nature but were created by man. It was a small village, nestled in a valley of coralite and surrounded by heavy forests. Hugh knew of many such towns that used the hills and trees to hide themselves from elven attack. They paid the penalty by being well off the major airlanes, but if it came to a question of living well or living at all, some people gladly chose poverty.
Hugh knew the value of life. Measuring it against good living, he considered them fools.
The dragon circled the sleeping village. Seeing a glade in the forest, Hugh guided the beast to a smooth landing. As he unpacked their gear from the dragon’s back, he wondered where their shadow had set down. He did not spend much time considering the question. The Hand had laid his snare. It required only baiting.
The dragon left them immediately after it was unloaded. Rising into the air, it disappeared above the treetops. Casually, taking his time, Hugh shouldered the packs. Motioning to the prince to follow, he was heading off into the woods when he felt a tug at his sleeve.
“What is it, Your Highness?”
“Can we talk out loud now?” The child’s eyes were wide. Hugh nodded.
“I can carry my own pack. I’m stronger than I look. My father says someday I’m going to grow up to be as tall and strong as he is.”
Stephen said that, did he? To a kid he knew would never grow up. If I had that bastard in front of me, it’d be a pleasure to twist his neck. Silently Hugh handed Bane the pack. They reached the edge of the forest and plunged into the deep shadows beneath the hargast trees. Soon they would be lost to sight and hearing, their feet making no sound on the thick carpet of fine dustlike crystals.